


Step Five: Keeping Them on The Hook

by pinkpop



Series: A Guide to Honeytrapping: The Art of Screwing the Bad Guy [5]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Choking, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, Office Sex, two lowkey psychopaths trying to awkwardly admit that they like each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkpop/pseuds/pinkpop
Summary: It's reader's first day working for Hyperion and what kind of boss would Jack be if he didn't help them christen their new office?"A boring one" is the answer.
Relationships: Handsome Jack (Borderlands)/Reader
Series: A Guide to Honeytrapping: The Art of Screwing the Bad Guy [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796794
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Step Five: Keeping Them on The Hook

It’s your first day on the job and you’re already late. Good job you’re fucking your boss, right? Otherwise, you’d be fired (-out of a Hyperon autocannon, most likely.)  
You rush down the corridor towards your office, one floor below Jack’s, hurrying past Hyperion workers in the same shade of vitamin pee yellow. You get a thoroughly dirty look from a man in a freshly pressed suit after bumping into him on your way passed and you blame the jet lag despite very few people having used planes or rockets in over 200 years.   
It’s your first time in space and you’re still getting used to seeing stars outside the windows, swallowed by the empty black around them. It’s crazy to think that Jack spent all of his time up here back before he was a big-time CEO. Though, you suppose maybe the endless nothing outside his window could have had a hand in driving him mad. Or at least a tad agoraphobic.  
You reach your swanky new office with almost 45 minutes of your shift having passed by. You fiddle with the keycard Jack had given you, the number for his office phone scrawled on the back in black marker, a direct line from you to him - should you be in the mood for it. When your door glides open with a pressurised hiss, Jack is already stood in the centre of the office, waiting for you with his arms folded across his chest and an amused smile on his face.  
“You’re early,” you pant, setting your bag down behind the sofa in the corner.  
“You’re late.”  
“I’m ever late.”  
Jack tilts an eyebrow skywards - or whatever passes for skywards in space. “You’re late now,” he points out.  
“Impossible. Any coffee left in that?” You nod towards the coffee machine on the table, the metal pot still steaming slightly. There’s a cup on the desk behind him, stained around the rim from the fresh coffee he’d been drinking. He’s been waiting for you for a while, by the looks of it. Your mouth waters at the thought of a piping hot cup o’ Joe. “I’m desperate,” you add.   
“Desperate, huh?” Jack smirks, eyes fixed on you as you head for the coffee machine. There's barely a drop left in it. Dang.  
“You wish,” you tease, setting the pot back down on the spill tray and huffing. “You have no idea how hard it is to wake up in a Hyperion issued bed when you’ve been sleeping on a sandy mattress for the last 8 years of your life,” you state, rubbing your eyes. "I could have stayed there forever."  
You sense him moving from his spot in the centre of the room, feel his presence as he swoops up behind you and wraps his arms around your stomach. He’s warm and soft - his jacket is freshly dry cleaned and feels like well-worn linen against your skin as you brush your hands against it.  
Jack nuzzles into your shoulder. “I could think of a few ways to wake you up,” he says.  
“Do any of them involve you running downstairs to grab me a coffee from the canteen?” you ask.  
“Nope,” Jack replies between the kisses he’s leaving in the crook of your neck. He murmurs in your ear. “But they do involve you going downstairs. In the sexy way. You know, like, on your knees, not for coff- you know what, nevermind. Let’s just get to the fun stuff.”  
He spins you around within the circle of his arms and he sucks you in close by the waist. You smile up at him, amused. This job will be a lot less taxing than anticipated if every workshift starts like this. Of course, this is at least 50% of the reason you agreed to take Jack’s offer - the promise of round-the-clock sex on that cushy looking sofa bed in the corner. Lucky you. I’m honestly jealous.  
You reach your hands up and snake them around Jack’s neck. It’s been a while since you got to sample the food on offer at the all-you-can-eat CEO buffet and you’ve been eager to get back to double dipping, if you catch my drift. Jack’s skin is hot at the back of his neck and the idea of his skin against yours makes your ribs sing like a canary. There’s no hiding it anymore; you like this. All of it. You like the thrill and the drama and the sex and you really, really, _really_ like Handsome Jack.  
Moxxi’s concern is starting to make a lot of sense. The giddiness, lightheadedness. The feeling that you’re gonna faint whenever you’re around him. All of the smiles and giggles and the constant need to touch him; like he’s magnetic and you just can’t settle properly unless you’re holding onto his arm or pressing your leg against his. Your chest buzzes, mind fogs over, everything you do is overshadowed by the thought of Jack. Everything reminds you of him. Now, there’s a word for all of these feelings, of course, but I gotta tell you, buddy, I don’t think you’ll like it.  
“Love,” you murmur.  
“Huh?” Jack watches you stare blankly into the void as you fiddle with the neckline of his tatty Hyperion shirt.  
Don’t look at me; I'm just the narrator. You’re on your own in this one.  
Shaking yourself from your trance, you look up at him with a mischievous smile. “I _love_ the look of that sofa bed,” you say.   
Jack risks a quick glance over his shoulder at the brand new, unused (at least you hope so) leather sofa behind him and when he turns to look at you again and your eyes lock, you’re both well and truly on the same page.  
Without a second thought, Jack swoops down and takes your legs out from underneath you, lifting you up so effortlessly that it makes you think that he must work out way more than you’d initially given him credit for. You giggle (more of a crackle, really, but I won’t tease you about it) as he carries you bridal style toward the sofa bed. And when he plops you down on the springy cushions, you pull him down with you into a kiss.  
He hovers over you, one hand braced against the back of the sofa and the other working at rolling up your pencil skirt. Heart pounding, you pull away slightly for a quick breather. Jack smiles at you and stands up straight, his eyelids half closed. Whether he’s content, sleepy, whacked out of his head, or just filled to the brim with unbridled lust, I couldn’t really tell you. Either way, he’s looking pretty damn happy to be where he is right now and it’s no wonder he feels that way as you slowly pull your Hyperion work blouse up over your head to reveal yellow lace and soft skin. Judging by how tight his jeans are getting, I’d hazard a guess that he really likes seeing you in yellow.   
You toss your blouse over the back of the sofa and lean back in your seat, watching with your bottom lip held between your teeth as he rolls up his sleeves and begins unbuckling his belt. The way he does it has you feeling fidgety with anticipation. There’s something so suave and casually sexy about the way he stands over you and it makes you feel you’re at the top of a rollercoaster getting ready for the thrill of the drop.  
He’s got his jeans hanging open now, he’s down to his bright mustard-yellow boxers with his own company’s name written on them. This guy strikes the balance between _sophisticated sex bomb_ and _absolute nerd_ perfectly. Kudos to him for nailing it.   
He bends down to kiss you again and you speak between kisses. “Be a doll and lock the door for me?”  
Jack taps a button on his wrist watch and the metal clunk of the locking mechanism echoes behind you.   
“It’s a little alarming that you have the ability to lock my office door on demand like that,” you confess.  
“You scared I might abuse my power, pumpkin?” he smiles, teeth twinkling.  
Admittedly, the thought of him one day locking you in your office and forcing you to work gruelling overtime shifts until you pass out from sleep deprivation had crossed your mind. Come to think of it... Wait, why does the idea of him having that kind of power over you make you feel good? Are you okay? Do you have, like, _issues_ or something?  
Jack gently wraps his hand around your throat, each finger curling slowly and deliberately. He watches your lips as the tiniest smile twitches across them, your breath coming and going in small soft gasps. His finger and thumb squeeze the sides of your neck ever so slightly and the whimsical lightheaded feeling sets in quickly as the blood flow to your brain slows. Everything clouds over slightly, soft hues blanketing the otherwise sharp edges of the office around you. There’s an art to it, you think, and Jack has the method down to a T.  
He watches you as you smile up at him and releases you carefully once the anxiousness in your eyes is enough to satisfy him. There’s such wickedness to his grin - the corners of his mouth are sharp and his teeth gleam like pointed fangs. He’s beastly, but like, in a sexy way. He enjoys pushing you to the edge, watching the breath leave your lungs and the mild panic flit across your features when you wonder if he's actually going to let go or not. But what he enjoys even more is bringing you back again right before it’s too late. Having your life in his hands - literally. It’s that hero complex of his. If he was in the mood to, there’s no doubt he’d actually kill you, just to experience the thrill of performing CPR on you and saving your life.   
Actually, you know what? I think I just talked myself into developing a kink.  
Jack gazes at you a moment longer, taking in your lips and eyes and the heavy rise and fall of your chest as you suck down air into your lungs. Then he kisses you again, hard and hungry, and you grip the collar of his blazer hard within your fingers, pulling him as close as you can. It all moves so fast. He hitches up your skirt until it’s bunched around your waist and he yanks down your underwear in several quick and rather jerky pulls. Your lovely lace undies are promptly stuffed into your mouth by two of his fingers and you breathe a muffled giggle into the fabric as he delivers some lazy open-mouthed kisses (mixed with the odd nibble) to your throat.   
You’re desperate to pull the balled-up underwear out of your mouth so that you can fire off some whitty, flirtatious remarks in his direction, but the thought is pretty much obliterated on sight when Jack slides two warm fingers into you without so much as a “knock knock, I’m coming in.” You throw your head back and grab hold of his wrist instinctively.   
“What’s up?” Jack smirks. “You want a warning next time?”  
“You shhum opffa bitsch,” you mumble, the undies stealing exactly 50 percent of that sentence and replacing it with muffled nonsense. Jack laughs - a rare dose of sunniness from a man who is otherwise darkness - and you shake your head, grinning at how less-than-civilised you just sounded. Although given you’re currently being turned into a sexy shish kebab with a side of wadded up underwear and a thin layer of sweat garnish, I’d say you’re far from being civilised right now anyway, to be perfectly honest. No offence.  
Your new boss toys with you, pulling his fingers out slowly only to gently push them back in again, but never all the way. He moves so slowly that it’s probably considered torture in some solar systems. As it should be. You’re desperate for him to go faster, harder, but he knows that and so he deliberately takes it slow. You reach your limit pretty quickly, and pull the underwear out of your mouth, tossing them to the floor.  
“Are you gonna fuck me or not? ‘Cause I got some paperwork to file away at some point this morning and you’re taking time away from my very busy schedule.”  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jack smiles, “am I not going fast enough for you?”  
“You’re about 20 mph too slow and a little soft on the pedal, big boy.”  
“Well then,” he grunts, hauling you up and flipping you over, planting you face down on the sofa with a yelp.  
You giggle into the couch cushion, gripping the leather seam with your fingers as he positions you to his liking. Which is to say ass up, face down, ankles apart. The tiniest gasp catches in your throat when he eases into you. You’d almost forgotten what it feels like to be thoroughly screwed by him. Between being interrupted by his man servant or stopped in your tracks by his girlfriend, you haven’t been able to get any further than second base in a good while. It feels just as good as it did the first time, though. That rush of excitement, the sharp sensation careening against your ribs. You want him closer to you - not that he could physically get any closer - and you don’t want him to leave. If you could have him pressed against you forever that would be the ideal way to live out the rest of your days. His warmth against you, his soft hands holding yours, his breath in your ear as his whispers things to you-  
Oh wait.  
 _Oh no._  
You really _are_ in fucking love with him.  
The weight of the realisation hits you like a freight train, but with the dizzying feeling that swells in your chest as Jack curls your hair around his fist and yanks, you blessedly don’t have much room to think about it. Instead, you focus on what he tells you as he grumbles against the back of your shoulder.  
“You’re mine, now.”  
Your heart stammers in your chest and you can feel the heat in your cheeks. You grin, breathing hard between moans. There’s no way the people outside this office can’t hear you. You’re both throwing caution to the wind and grunting your way into the 90 decibel range, for sure. “Why don’t you show me why you’re the one who’s in charge?” you suggest, followed by a purposely sweet little moan.  
Jack chuckles and clasps his hand around your neck again, palm against your throat. He gets rougher, rocking your forward again and again, and a wave of tingles washes over your body. He’s not going slow anymore. He’s not merciful, either. He doesn’t do you the kindness of letting you catch your breath in between thrusts and you honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. Breathing is overrated and there’s a delicious light-headedness that comes from his fist cutting off the blood supply to your brain for a while. Everything seems to change colour again until he lets go and you drag in a breath or two before he pulls out and rolls you over.   
He's leaning over you now, knelt between your spread legs with the loose buckle of his belt digging into the inside of your thigh. He pins both of your wrists to the couch above your head and offers a toothy grin as he looks down at you.   
“You wanna know why I’m in charge?” he asks, leaning in close. You flutter your eyelashes and nod innocently. “Because I was born to be. And I could choke the life outta your pretty little eyes at any moment if I wanted to. Is that what you wanna hear, kitten?”  
“Call me kitten again,” you purr, rutting against him.  
Jack leans down further and places a perfectly engineered kiss to your earlobe. His lips brush your ear ever-so-gently when he whispers “kitten” in the lowest and sexiest voice you’ve ever heard a man muster. You wriggle one hand out of his grip and reach it up to curl around the nape of his neck. He carefully slides inside you again and you softly stroke the back of his neck with your thumb while he loses himself in the crook of your neck. He’s still holding one of your hands down above your head and his other hand wanders the skin at your waist. It’s all you can do not to cry out with giddiness when his fingers tickle at your bare flesh. There’s something so intimate in the way he touches you - something that contradicts his talk about being in charge and strangling you to death. Which I suppose could also be a pretty intimate way to die. It’s those little caresses whilst he’s lost in the moment - the subconscious gestures of affection - that are incredibly telling. They fill you with a warm feeling and leave you thinking that maybe he’s feeling a lot of the same things that you are.  
A familiar feeling builds inside your gut; a whirling sensation that somersaults end over end until your body decides to take the wheel. You arch your back and Jack looks up from the kisses he’s peppering all over your shoulder. He’s already smiling when he lays eyes on you and that grin only widens when your breath catches again and again. You bite your lip so hard you might actually draw blood, but you’ll do anything to keep from screaming and having to explain to the worker in the neighbouring office why you were screeching the place down before lunch break. With a meek and shaky moan, you grasp at Jack’s shoulder. He keeps screwing you, refusing to let up until he gets what he wants: to see you devolve into a quivering mess.   
“Go on,” he murmurs. “Be a good girl.”  
You finally unravel, squeezing your thighs around his waist tightly and rocking back and forth with him, riding it out on autopilot. Jack puts his thumb in your mouth and holds your tongue down. With those double-coloured eyes of his glimmering with excitement and a healthy dose of power, he watches your face intently until, finally, you’re through to the other side of the storm.  
With you turning a little limp with exhaustion, Jack slows down his pace. He's more tender and careful, one hand slipping down between your both to help guide him in and out. You look up at him through sleepy eyes and offer him the cutest tired smile that he (or I for that matter) has ever seen. You play with the collar of his white dress shirt as he gently pulls out, leaving just his tip inside you. Only then does he finish, twitching a few times with a handful of extremely shaky breaths before carefully easing out and sitting back on the sofa. Something about him finishing inside you makes your stomach flutter, even though it should probably irk you. He just couldn't bring himself to stop, huh? It just felt too damn good, apparently.  
He runs his fingers through his hair, combing it back out of his face. He looks just as worn out as you feel and the two of you sit in silence for a few moments.  
“You carry on like that and I’m gonna have to give you a pay raise,” he says finally.  
“And what would my colleagues think,” you reply, pretending to be utterly scandalised.  
Chuckling quietly, he hastily fastens his jeans and buckles his belt again. You stretch your legs out beside him, thighs already aching from squeezing them together so hard, and he reclines against the arm of the sofa with one hand on your ankle. It’s another one of those little touches again - latent and unnoticed. But _you_ sure notice them, even if he doesn’t.  
“I don’t wanna do paperwork,” you tell him. “I want you to stay with me for a while. In the quiet.”  
He cracks open an eyelid to peek at you over the end of his nose. “You want me to stay?” he echoes. “Any particular reason, cupcake?”  
The urge to be honest with him is overwhelming. So you give in to it. “Because I like being with you.” And that’s the god’s honest truth. Perhaps the first truth you’ve actually told him. Everything he knows about you is a lie, except the fact that you’re Pandoran born and good in bed, obviously. But this is the first real thing about you. “Unless you’re busy...” you add, rather sheepishly.  
A beaming smile spreads across his face.   
“I can stay for as long as you got, babe,” he says. “I’m the boss. It's not like anyone's gonna fire me.”  
You sit up straight and wiggle your skirt back down over your rear, covering whatever is left of your dignity. Not much at this point, let’s be real. After correcting your skeewif hair, you crawl across to where Jack lays with his eyes closed and nestle in beside him. He seems surprised by it, but he welcomes you nonetheless, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You lay your head down on his chest and listen to his lungs filling with each breath he takes. He smells like old spice and tobacco and his shirt is so warm against your cheek that you could fall asleep right there.  
And then he says it. Quietly.  
“I like being with you too.”  
You try your best not to give him too much of a reaction. You’d never hear the end of it if you squealed like a schoolgirl in front of him. A man with an ego as big as Handsome Jack's needs to be balanced. He needs to be kept in check. So instead, you stifle your giddiness and nuzzle into him a little more just to let him know that you heard him. And the two of you enjoy the quiet of your brand new office for a little while longer; the ticking of the clock, the gentle whirring of the air recycler, and the sound of each other’s breath.


End file.
